


Through the Phone

by seb



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Accidental Exhibitionism, Accidental Voyeurism, Coming Out, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Trans Male Character, guided masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 13:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14309886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seb/pseuds/seb
Summary: Jake and Dirk may be friends with benefits, but even fuck buddies can keep secrets.A heartwarming story about some dudes being bros and getting off to each other's voices.





	Through the Phone

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the StriLonde Fan Jams server for being so wonderful and encouraging as I wrote this! 
> 
> Happy 4/13! Have some trans!Dirk/Jake fluff + porn!
> 
> Also, holy shit, I'm too distracted to come up with a better summary, I'm so sorry.

“Try it now,” you say, compiling the file containing the gist of Brobot’s new program. You and Jake have been working on it for hours now, the sun taking its sweet time coming up on the horizon. It’s near one in the morning for Jake, and you just want to get this done.

“Brobot,” Jake says, gruff over the line. You know he’s putting some sort of game face on and it makes you smile to think about. He enunciates his words, lest he fuck up and send Brobot into some sort of tackle maneuver. You hope your program is written correctly to avoid as much. “Commence sequence eight, set zero.”

You hear the sound of metal on metal as Brobot assumedly moves in response. It’s slow, so you know the speed setting works. You strain your ears to hear more, as Jake’s gone silent since giving the command to begin. He lets out a delighted little noise and you hear the  _ thunk  _ of his arm against Brobot’s. The sensors in the arm react, the slats of metal creaking slightly as they recoil.

“Put some oil on that thing,” you say, fidgeting with the scroll wheel on your mouse as you wait for Jake to speak. You want to know if you’ve done well, if it worked like it was supposed to. You’ve only spent hours compiling the code from half the globe and hundreds of years away to find out.

“No need!” Jake says, smile bright in his voice. “Can hear the bugger coming this way. Brobot, commence sequence zero.” The soft whir of the fans inside the robot slows and stops, a long beep signifying its transition into sleep mode. You hear the click of a button press and the sound stops. “Smart of you to have that feature. I’ve found him conked out a few times on the island that way.”

You flush under the praise. It was a stray thought you had- what if he were to run out of power and collect moss and vegetation, all your hard work lost to the jungle? It was easy to include in an update once upon a time while Jake babbled on about the fight they’d had that day. The screeching as the program ran was less than enjoyable, but it worked, and Jake recognized it. You feel good, warm. 

“And this new thing-a-majig is fantastic! He went straight for my head with a chop and once I blocked it, he went in for another with his other arm,” Jake narrates, likely reenacting it. You wish your webcams were on so you could see him. Though, maybe you should be thankful he can’t see your cheeks heating up. You did good. Jake is impressed with you. The warmth from before spreads to your core.

“Cool,” you respond, running the compiler through copies of a few old files, modified to better run with the new program in place. They all process through with no errors, thankfully, and you stretch as you sit up straighter. “Now you’ll just have to pop open the panel in his chest to update his software.”

“Ohoho,” Jake sing-songs, popping open Brobot with a creak. He really does need to oil that thing, damn. “Getting frisky. Second base, is it?” You shake your head fondly as the software to connect ports alerts you of a new online user. You connect with it, typing in a few lines of code to get the updates transporting from your computer directly to Brobot. Jake, meanwhile, doesn’t stop. “Wrong Strider to have my hands on, though, hm?”

You blink. That was… forward. Blunt. But it  _ is  _ Jake you’re talking to.

“Shut up, English,” you mutter, scrubbing at your cheek with your palm. You hate this, the way his words and their suggestive tone send spikes of heat down your spine. He’s just teasing to see how far he can push you. You definitely hate it.

“Fine, fine,” he says, and you hear him drop down into his chair. “Just wondering what it’d take to get you as lax and calm as this. Is it just a few words and a button press on you, too?”

He’s smiling. You can hear it, the smug bastard. 

“I’m not that easy,” you murmur, pressing down on one of your keys to distract yourself. You’re definitely that easy. The distraction doesn’t work.

Like a ghost, you feel Jake’s hands on you. How would they feel? Smooth, like yours, warm under the morning sun? Rough, calloused? You’ve never felt them before, but that hasn’t stopped you yet. The phantom hands travel from your hips to your waist, run along your sides. A shiver runs down your spine, and your breath cuts short. His lips to your ear is your button; a simple phrase your ruin. Anything to feel his words against your skin. 

“Dirk?” Jake questions. He’s likely been talking to you. Your thoughts muffle but are not silenced, and your finger slips, closing the window of your compiler. Funny, that.

“Yeah,” you breathe, and you hate the weakness in your voice. The hands cup your jaw and you close your eyes, gripping the arm of your chair. Your face is hot, your heart pounding, your blood like fire in your veins.

“Oh,” Jake says quietly, intrigued. “ _ Oh _ ,” he repeats, and you hear the squeak of the wheels of his desk chair rolling across the floor, and the palms of his hands pressing against the tabletop. It takes everything in you to hold back a whimper.

“And that was?” he prods, but you don’t answer. The hands are at your neck, now, thumbing over your pulse. Your leg shakes, knee bouncing in anticipation, in desperate want. The things he’s said to you before, promised to do. The things you ache for, you dream about. 

The fingers press into the skin of your neck. Heat rushes through you, and you groan.

“You sure do get riled up fairly easy, Strider,” Jake says. It leaves no room for argument, but you argue it anyway.

“I don’t,” you protest. “I’m not.”

“Sure. Take off your shirt.”

You suck in a sharp breath, shuddering. You remove your headphones to take off your shirt and quickly reposition them on your head, unsure what to do next. You rest your hand on your navel, icy fingertips shocking the heated skin of your stomach. Your other hand twitches on the arm of the chair.

“Jake-” you say.

“Now, as much as I love to hear those delightful sounds from you,” he interrupts, voice dropping to a register you’ve never heard before. “I want you to put your hand to your lips-” you follow his direction, a jittery sigh escaping your mouth- “and put a sock in it.”

You moan outright as you slide your fingers into your mouth. Jake tsks you on the other end of the line.

“I said hush, Dirk,” he says. “And suck.”

So you do. You press your tongue against your fingers, slipping it up to the tips by touch before plunging your fingers back into your throat. You push as far down as you can go, whimpering as quietly as you can and leaning your head back to take them farther. You swallow past your gag reflex and pull back, licking along them again, swirling your tongue periodically. You hollow your cheeks and suck, wishing they were Jake’s thick fingers filling your mouth, stretching your lips; or better yet, his cock, heavy and heady on your tongue and in your throat. You moan again at just the thought, fucking your fingers into your mouth rhythmically, your head bobbing and swaying with the motions.

“Lovely,” Jake praises, and you go hot all over. You whine, slipping your fingers out of your mouth to catch your breath, still shaky from before. You hear him unzip something; his jacket, maybe. Maybe his shorts. 

“Want you to run those down your chest and give yourself a nice pinch for me,” he says, and you nod even though he can’t see you. "Can you do that?" You cup your chest, fingers closing around your nipple and pinching. You gasp, groaning on the exhale. He knows how sensitive you are, knows how much this turns you on. He knows you inside and out, could dirty talk you in his sleep if he wanted.

Your chair creaks as you shift in it, hips jerking as you pinch your other nipple, massaging your chest. Your eyelids flutter and you groan. You hate how high your voice gets but you can’t help it, the noises escape you before you have a chance to filter them. 

“Easy, now,” Jake chuckles, voice closer somehow. “Don’t want you enjoying yourself too much.”

You whine openly at that, dying for something more. You want to say please but like hell you’re going to be reduced to begging, you still have some dignity left. At that, you pinch yourself harder, and moan Jake’s name into the mic.

“Other hand at your waistband,” he commands quickly. You chew on your lip, complying with his orders. Your fingers tease the waistband of your pj’s, running along your skin. “Keep it there.”

You hear another zipper. The rustling of fabric. You keep massaging your chest and rubbing circles below your navel, dangerously close to your crotch. You hear Jake sigh, then grunt, and you know he’s cheating. You dip your finger into your underwear, run it along the trimmed pubes there. You want so badly to touch yourself, but you need to be good. You want Jake to be happy with you.

“Just peachy,” Jake sighs, his chair creaking as he leans back in it. You mimic him, settling your weight into the cushions. “You’re doing so well, Dirk, listening to me. So good.”

You whine, bucking your hips into the air. It’s good, fuck, it’s so good to hear his voice. You want his hands all over you, his tongue at your neck, his teeth. You want all of him, everywhere, crowding your senses until all you know is Jake.

“Rock your hips,” he grants you, a saint, truly. “Grind on your hand. Want to hear every noise you make.”

You slide your hand down to your crotch, rocking your hips against it. You press down on your packer, trying to get some friction. It’s difficult with a pair of rolled up socks in the way, keeping you from any real contact, but you can’t reach into your briefs. You can’t touch, because then Jake would know you weren't being good. And you need to be good.

You huff into the mic, grinding down on your hand. You find an angle that presses the packer against your clit and slides, and you could drown in the wave of arousal that passes through you. A low groan rips through your throat, and you shudder at the sound, turning your head into the cushions behind you. You haven’t even gotten a hand in your pants and you’re already so far gone.

“Fuck,” Jake mutters, and you hear the slick sound of his tongue against his skin, and the moan that follows. You really wish you could see him, know what he’s doing, how you’re making him feel. Your head is a cottony mess of images: his hand around his dick; the delighted, sultry look on his face as you grind down on his leg; his fingers pressing hard enough into your hips to bruise. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and you hiccup, overwhelmed. Your stomach is flipped inside out and your skin is too hot, it’s too much at once. You kick off your pj’s to feel the cool material of the chair under your thighs and buck your hips into your hand once more. You want, you want, but you can’t speak, can’t think. “You’ve been so good, Dirk, want you to… to tease yourself— just the palm.”

You could sob in relief as you cram your hand into your briefs, shoving the packer out of the way. You take quick, short breaths, sliding your fingers into your folds and dropping your jaw in a silent moan. You’re soaking.

“Jake,” you whisper, voice weak and shaking. There are tears in your eyes as you slip your fingers through the slickness, massaging your labia. Your finger catches on your clit when it curls and you jolt, gasping. “ _ Jake _ ,” you say again, needy.

“You gonna fuck yourself for me?” he all but purrs into your ear, and you moan. You nod again, rocking your hips over your fingers. “You gonna think of my cock filling you up, stretch yourself wishing it were my fingers? My tongue?”

Now  _ that’s  _ an image to behold. You cry out, thumbing your clit harshly at the thought of his head between your legs, face buried in your folds and tongue laving over you. The warmth of his breath on your thighs, the hickeys he’d suck into your skin because only Jake can get you like this, only Jake can hold your heart in his hands where they’re placed at your knees, spreading you apart and making you scream.

“ _ Yes _ ,” you say, spitting the word out and spreading your legs, using your other hand to toss your packer to the side and slide your briefs down your thighs. It’s trembling, and so are your legs now that you care to look. He’d probably kiss you, tug on your earlobe with his teeth and run his hands over you, tell you to  _ calm down, pretty _ while you writhed beneath him, restless—

“Do you have lube?” he asks, and your heart jumps into your throat. You can feel your pulse through it, humming an affirmative tone and leaning over to grab your water bottle. You press a button on the front, popping open the cap next to the mic before setting it back down. You’re wet enough already, and you’re not patient enough to try going for your back hole. What Jake doesn’t and has never known won’t hurt him.

“Good boy,” he praises, and you whine, dipping your finger inside yourself. You need this. You’re about to start begging, dignity be damned, when he continues. “You can take two fingers, can’t you, lovely? You’re always so loose and ready for me.”

You shudder and do as you’re told, slipping two fingers past your entrance to press against your inner walls. The slide is so easy- you really are loose- and you press them in deep. You shuffle until your briefs fall to your ankles and reposition your legs until they’re more comfortably spread before you start fucking yourself in earnest. Jake would be thicker, you think, than two fingers. He’d fuck you harder, slower, deeper.

You can hear him, now. You hear the slick slide of his hand around his cock, the breathy expletives he lets out as he listens to you cry out for him. You get stuck there for a while, plunging your fingers inside of yourself and listening to him get off to just the  _ sound  _ of you. You let out a shuddering sigh that sounds suspiciously like Jake's name, pressing your thumb against your clit as you curl your fingers, and your leg jumps from where you were resting it up on the arm of your chair.

“Sound so lovely,” Jake murmurs, and you can almost imagine him curled up next to you, his hand spreading your labia and pushing inside of you, his mouth at your ear. “Hit that sweet spot for me, love, want to hear you sing.”

You add another finger with the rest and curl them until you hit that spot, your other hand coming around to rub your clit. You jerk in place, chasing the feeling. After a few prolonged seconds, your head snaps back, a strangled moan ripped from your throat as you cum, high-pitched and delirious. Your hand shakes, weakly thrusting into your hole, and you struggle to catch your breath.

You sit there for a bit, eyes closed as you listen to Jake grunt and groan, gruff and quick. Soon, he’s shouting your name as he comes, and your hips buck of their own volition. You sigh. Once your breathing evens, you reach out to the hoard of napkins on your desk and wipe your fingers clean. You’re… probably going to have to wipe down your chair, too. You’re usually more prepared for these things. You scoot back in your seat to clean up a little and startle when Jake clears his throat on the other end of the line. You forgot he was still there.

“Drink that water,” Jake says, “and grab some fruit.” He sounds sated and tired, and a little ball of pride works its way into your stomach: you made him feel that way. You set your headphones on your desk and pop open your water again, taking big gulps. You’ll have to go through the whole process of refilling it tomorrow— collect, filter, fill, repeat. The cycle helps clear your mind, and your body feels loose. You stand up, legs shaking, and go to find some freeze-fried apples. Jake’s verbally bonked you over the head for eating them before, but they’re a good snack, especially post-long-distance-coitous.

Once you find them, you grab some boxers and a tank. The air is sticky and the salty air blowing in dries out your skin in your sleep, so it’s better to keep the most sensitive bits covered up. You could go for a shower, but you’re honestly too tired right now to even wait for the water to heat up. Instead, you shutdown your computer and rejoin your call with Jake on your phone, slipping your headphones back over your ears.

“Cleaned up,” you say, sitting on the edge of your bed. The sun is well over the horizon now. You yawn, falling back onto your comforter. “Ate, too. Drank water. You do the same?”

“Yeah,” Jake hums. He’s quiet, which is unusual. Jake never shuts up, not even after a good “wank.” It's worrying.

Instead of pushing, you throw your phone next to and start piling up extra pillows and blankets, pushing them against the wall your bed is pressed up against. You cover them with your comforter and pat around until it’s vaguely human shaped.

“Can we have a little chat before bed?” Jake questions, soft, and your heart jumps into your throat. Did you do something wrong? Did he not enjoy himself? Shit, what if he  _ knows _ . Getting off to his orders doesn’t necessarily mean you have feelings for him, right? He couldn’t have possibly figured that out. That would mean— shit, does he have feelings for you, too? Your heart is pounding. You can’t move.

“Yeah, dude,” you say, nervous laugh shuddering out of you. “What’s up?”

“Your, uh-” he begins, then laughs dryly. He’s as nervous as you are. You press your hands to your headphones. “I should’ve told you before, I’m so sorry… you…”

“Jake, what?” you ask, voice cracking.

“Your camera was on,” he says quickly. Your blood runs cold. “I should have told you when I noticed it, but you’re… you’re quite a sight to see. I’m sorry. I…”

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. Tears spring to your eyes, and your skin feels like it’s on fire. “I should have told you the truth. I’ve-”

“The what? Wait, what?” Jake says, incredulous. “I was the one invading  _ your _ privacy, and— the  _ truth _ ?  _ Dirk _ .”

You’re silent.

He knows. He knows the one thing that  _ nobody _ else knows. Not even Roxy. Because you slipped and pressed a button. Because you weren’t careful enough. You should have known better, you should have checked—

“Dirk, you’re not lying about anything,” Jake says, interrupting your thoughts. “You’re still my best bro. I don’t… I don’t understand why…” he trails off. Pauses. You hold back a sob, but the tears come anyway. “Nothing will change that. You’re not lying about anything. I’m… well, I’m kind of glad I know, selfish as it is. I can… be better.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, curling against the lump of blanket. You feel too exposed, suddenly. The air brings goosebumps to your skin and your breathing is shaky at best. 

“You haven’t done anything wrong, goober,” Jake says, and you can hear the faintest of smiles in his voice. You grin yourself, against your own will. You bury your face in the comforter. “I care about you, Strider.”

You cry openly at that. Your heart melts down your throat, back into your chest. You sniffle into the blanket, feeling pathetic knowing Jake can hear you, but at the same time, you can’t find yourself to care. You feel like a vault in your chest has been opened, all the weight tumbling down your spine. It’s… liberating. You feel closer to Jake than you have to anyone else, and he’s almost quite literally forever away.

“The water bottle trick was pretty bright, if I do say so myself,” Jake jokes, and you let out a wet laugh. You wipe away your tears and turn over in bed, rearranging your headphone cords and pressing up against the blankets. You wait a second before pulling the edge of the comforter over your middle.

“Shut up, English,” you respond, and he laughs out loud, lively despite how tired he must be.

It’s quiet. You hear him shift around, presumably in bed. You wonder what he’s wearing. He told you he wears socks to bed and you were horrified. Then you took back every bad thing you said, because socks meant he wouldn’t press his cold toes to your leg. 

That’s when you knew, you think. When your first thought was sleeping next to him, tangled in each other, your head on his chest. You shut your eyes tight and think about it now, his chest at your back and his arm around your waist. You can almost feel his breath at your neck. His lips.

“Can we, uh,” Jake begins. You wait patiently for him to ask. “Can we sleep?”

_ Together _ . He doesn’t say. You wonder if he thinks about you in the same way. If he thinks about holding you close, rubbing the skin of your hip, kissing your jaw as you fall asleep, safe in his arms.

“‘Course,” you slur, bringing your hands up to grip your pillowcase. You imagine him pulling you closer, kissing behind your ear.

“Goodnight, Dirk,” he breathes. He’s right behind you, if you don’t think about it.

“Goodnight, Jake,” you respond. The load on your chest is gone, rolling away with the breeze. You breathe deep for what feels like the first time in your life. On the exhale, the darkness behind your eyelids wins over the rays of sunshine climbing through your window, and you’re swept into your dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I'm planning on writing this from Jake's perspective as well, because duh.
> 
> Contact me on Tumblr at testifyds!


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